


The Ancient Halls of Mountain Kings

by AkiRah



Series: Hold The Sky [11]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: A Paragon of Her Kind, Multi, No one in Thedas has their act together, Orzammar, are there inns in orzammar?, awkward moments trying to talk about things, my immediate reaction is to think that there arent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5056822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiRah/pseuds/AkiRah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surana and her companions travel to the last Dwarven Kingdom, Orzammar in hopes of having the dwarves cement their centuries old treaties with the Grey Wardens. What they find is predictable chaos, gang violence, an admittedly impressive library, and the lesson that large headaches come in small packages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Elf Who Went Up A Hill And Into A Mountain

The Elf Who Went Up A Hill and Into A Mountain

For one reason or another, either out of ignorance or sympathy, no one asked Surana if she knew where Jowan had gone when she came down stairs for breakfast. She tried to believe it was ignorance, but Isolde’s icy glower spoke otherwise. No one could accuse her, no one could know for _certain_. She didn’t envy the man who had had to tell Bann Teagan, and she _really_ didn’t envy the man who would have to tell the templars.

Alistair hadn’t touched his food. She brushed her hand against his shoulder as she passed to take the seat beside him. 

“Did you sleep at all?” she asked, poking her eggs with her fork. They were cooked to perfection, but her appetite had wandered off. 

Alistair gave her a small smile. “Not really. It’s the feather beds you know, I can’t sleep properly if there isn’t a huge rock jammed directly into my spine. It’s a character flaw.” 

Surana chuckled. “I suppose you needed at least _one_ flaw.” She winked and resisted the urge to press a kiss to the point of his shoulder. 

Morrigan made a gagging noise, and Surana couldn’t really blame her for it. She did, however, roll her eyes in reply and stick her tongue out. Morrigan snorted. 

“You seem _particularly_ annoyed today, Morrigan.” Surana scooted a little further from Alistair and turned her attention more fully to Morrigan. “Anything I can do?” 

“No.” 

“Let me know if that changes.” Surana chewed the inside of her cheek. “How long is the walk to Orzammar? Barring bandits or Loghain’s troops?”

“About two weeks, I believe,” Zevran said, producing and studying a map, “the mountains will slow us down quite a bit.” 

Surana nodded. “I’ll see if Bodhan’s comfortable carrying the extra food. If he’s even willing to travel that far, I asked him once about how he came to the surface and I’m not sure he’d be at all keen to even end up in Orzammar’s shadow.” 

“That bad?” Leliana asked. 

“The caste system makes it so surfacers become casteless, apparently, and are considered criminals just by, I don’t know, breathing.” She tugged at her braid. “I’ll talk to him. Think we can be ready to leave in the hour?” 

“Two tops,” Alistair contributed. 

“Excellent.”

* * *

“Tis staring at me once more, Neria.” Morrigan scoffed. 

“Who? What?” Surana looked up at Morrigan as she was addressed. “Stanton’s over--” She pointed to where Stanton was plodding along beside Wynne, hanging back and taking the hike at a more gentle pace.

“Your golem.” 

Surana’s hand dropped back to her side. “Shale isn’t _mine_. It’s . . . its own. Free will and all that.” 

“Hmph.” Morrigan’s nostrils flared with annoyance. 

“The swamp witch has a great deal in common with my former master.” Shale’s strange voice joined the conversation and Surana immediately hopped to one side to avoid the possibility of being crushed. Shale was not looking _at_ Morrigan, but instead had its face turned to Surana. 

It was disconcerting, feeling the gaze without Shale having _actual_ eyes. Made the hair on Surana’s arms stand on end. 

“The _swamp witch_ ,” Morrigan laughed mirthlessly. “How original.” 

“At least you’re not “it”?” Surana tried to help. 

“The swamp witch has the same arrogance, the same air of cruelty. I would hate for it to have possession of my control rod. If it still worked, of course.” 

“I spoke too soon,” Surana said by way of apology. 

“Let me tell you what you can do with your control rod, golem.” Morrigan snapped, unwilling to bear being described but not addressed. 

“Is it telling me that if the rod did work it wouldn’t want control over me?” 

How a disembodied voice coming from a still face could drip with disbelief was beyond Surana, but Shale certainly managed. Had it _always_ possessed such spirit or was that a result of the broken control rod? 

“I wouldn’t go so far as that.” Morrigan fluttered her eyelashes the way she often did when teasing Sten and then the venom normally reserved to Alistair dripped back into her voice. “I could, for instance, command you to go jump in a lake. A very _deep_ lake.” 

“It fools no one. The swamp witch would control everything, if it could. It would have us all dancing on its strings.” 

“It’s actually more likely that she’d just command us all to leave her alone,” Surana said with a shrug. “Morrigan likes her privacy and her quiet.” 

“You know me so well, golem.” Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Your revealing gaze has laid me bare.” 

“Not that that required much,” Sten muttered, just loud enough to earn a few snorts of laughter from the rest of the party. 

“I will be watching the swamp witch.” Shale turned its gaze back to Surana. “It is not to be trusted.” 

“Now you sound just like Alistair,” Morrigan clicked her tongue with disappointment. 

“ _I_ trust Morrigan.” Surana told Shale, loud enough to be certain everyone else could hear it. “We’ve been together for months, she’s invaluable.” 

Alistair snorted and muttered something Surana couldn’t quite catch and Morrigan herself just scoffed. 

But the point was made. Surana nodded triumphantly and walked confidently to Zevran and Leliana, who hadn’t been involved at all and were immediately placed in her good graces because of it. Of course, she immediately discovered that they had been embroiled in their own drama, with Zevran insinuating and Leliana denying. 

“Children,” Surana shook her head. “The whole lot of us.” 

“The lot of _you_ , perhaps.” Wynne chuckled, having finally caught up. 

“Perhaps.” Surana rested her hand on Stanton’s head and gave his ears a scratch. “Are you feeling quite well, Wynne?” 

“Fine, fine. My hips aren’t what they used to be.” 

“I am certain their is life in them yet.” Zevran chirped. 

Leliana smacked him. 

“Got any more stories about being a crow?” Surana asked. “To distract us while we’re walking?” 

“Again?” Zevran’s mouth hitched up in a bemused half-smile. “Well, now . . . what might interest you, I wonder? Shall I describe the stages involved with lanthrax poisoning? I watched a man go through all seven, once.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, but I’ll not inflict that on you all just yet.” Zevran’s arms crossed behind his head as he looked up at the clear blue sky and mulled over stories he could tell instead. “Let’s see. How about the largest battle I ever took part in? That would be the slaughter of Prince Asrin. Did you hear of that down in these parts?” 

“I did,” Leliana confirmed. “I had no idea you were involved.” 

Surana shook her head. “You killed a prince?” 

“Not personally, but I took part in the attack.” Zevran dropped his arms and began to talk with his hands, gesturing as he continued. “Prince Azrin was fourth in line for the throne, he started out as eleventh, you see, and worked his way up the old fashioned way.” 

“The old fashioned way?” Surana repeated skeptically. 

“He inherited control of a Crow cell from his grandfather,” Zevran explained with a shrug and a wink. “After assassinating his way through the royal family, the king hired three other cells to take down Prince Azrin once and for all. _I_ was in one of those cells.” 

“Is that. . . common . . . in Antiva?” Surana asked, utterly enthralled now. 

“Antivan royalty is very much tied up in the Crows, you wouldn’t want the commoners in control, after all. As such, the Crows get involved in politics quite often. This _particular_ fight nearly bankrupted the nation, I understand. It almost ended up putting a Crow on the throne, a commoner...but that’s a whole different story. I played a very small part.” 

“I hadn’t heard about the Crow almost becoming King.” Leliana commented. 

“It was kept very quiet.” 

“So what did you do, Zev?” 

“My part was trying to reach Princess Felenna, who had thrown in with her brother. I killed eleven of her guards personally before I was knocked out of a window.” 

Surana covered her mouth to hide both concern and an enraptured smile. 

“I landed in the river and nearly drowned.”

“Maker!” 

Zevran chuckled. “I was fished out by some urchins who robbed me blind. Made off with my boots too.” 

Surana tripped over a rock and was caught by Stanton’s head and chided with a sharp bark. 

“At least they didn’t cut my throat,” Zevran shrugged amicably. “And that was my part in history.” 

Surana was shaking with laughter. “Yours is a life truly blessed, Zev. You are probably the luckiest man I’ve ever met.” 

“It’s true. I live a charmed life. One of the prostitutes who raised me was a fortune teller. She said I wouldn’t die young.” He sighed. “She was rather surprised by that.” 

“I’m still surprised by it.” Leliana elbowed him in the ribs. “Considering.”

* * *

It was a long walk but eventually they reached the foot of the northern Frostbacks. Surana kept to the middle of the party, mediating disputes and swapping stories with her friends. Shale, she discovered, had the unique ability to get along with _no one_ except Sten. The golem was suspicious of Surana, Morrigan and Wynne by virtue of being mages, harbored a disdain for Alistair that rivaled Morrigan’s, and seemed at a complete loss for what to do with Leliana, Zevran and Stanton. 

But Surana put forth the effort to demonstrate good will in hopes that good will, or at least not open animosity, might be fostered. As they neared Orzammar, however, Shale drifted further to the back of the party where it mocked and derided Wynne instead of Alistair and asked more questions about Orzammar of Bodhan, knowing that golems had been built by the dwarves, but nothing more than that. 

As they neared the open air market that provided Orzammar with surface goods Surana noticed Sten starting to tense, he curled a hand around Asala’s hilt, keeping well ahead of her. Surana followed his eyes to a quartet, a mage and a couple of warriors, loitering near the bridge. 

They looked over and the leader gestured towards Surana’s party with his helmet. “‘Bout time a Warden showed. Loghain sends his regards.” 

Lightning began to charge in Surana’s fingers, but it was Sten who threw himself forward, Stanton at his heels, drawing half-way through the lunge and slicing a man clean in half. Blood arched and spattered, the spray standing out on the steel of Sten’s breastplate. 

She realized _immediately_ why so many people were afraid of the Qunari. Sten, being hornless, looked surprisingly human, but the strength was there. The raw power to effortlessly cleave through leather and bone with a swing. 

The other bounty hunters ran and fell either to arrows or to Morrigan’s magic. 

Surana stared at Sten.

“Kadan?” 

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Never seen a man cut in half so cleanly. I am . . . impressed.” She managed a small smile. “Also suitably terrified.” 

“You have nothing to fear,” Sten didn’t say it in a particularly comforting manner, it was a simple statement of fact. Like commenting on the mountain air being chilly or that Stanton was a dog. The lack of emotion was, in it’s own way, encouraging. “We should continue on. We are near the entrance, I believe.” 

“Y-yes, Kadan. I think you’re right.” 

Sten sheathed his sword after cleaning it and rolled his neck and shoulders. “The darkspawn are fleeing the underground and we are going there.” 

“Yes.” 

“Hmph.” 

It was better than arguing with her again, at least. 

Morrigan joined them where they were standing and gave Surana a telling smile before turning her gaze flirtily upwards to Sten, who ignored her with such dedication Surana couldn’t help but admire him. 

“I have a wonder, Sten.” Morrigan purred. “Have you perhaps reconsidered? I dream about you and I, if you must know.” 

Sten turned and began walking towards Orzammar. “You would,” he said, and then seemingly sensing that she wasn’t going to give up, continued. “Even if I _were_ interested in a small thing like you, the Qunari act is . . . unpleasant.” 

“Unpleasant how?” Morrigan asked, catching up easily as the rest of the group fell back into step.

“Deadly.” 

Surana looked to Zevran, who knew the most about these sorts of things, in an attempt to gauge if Sten was being honest. Zevran just smiled, entirely unhelpful. 

“And what if I didn’t mind? I enjoy a little . . . animation.” 

Surana’s mind took a dive into darker recesses, places lit by torchlight with Morrigan’s wrists bound and her sharp mouth open to cry ou--

and Surana _immediately_ blushed and felt terrible for thinking about any such things. 

“You’d be less animated afterwards.” Sten stuck to his story. 

“It sounds as if I’m arousing your passions already, my dear Sten.” Morrigan bit her lower lip as though inviting him to do the same. 

Sten frowned at her. “Parshaara, why do you pester me?” 

Morrigan’s mask broke and she laughed. “Because tis amusing, that is why.” 

“You’ve gone the color of your hair, my dear Neria.” Zevran whispered helpfully. Surana swallowed and he cackled. 

She was grateful when the doors were in sight, huge, towering slabs carved from the mountain itself and re-enforced with what appeared to be veridium. 

“Maker. That’s impressive.” 

“I do not know why the dwarves felt the need to make something so . . . big.” Leliana breathed with awe.

“Perhaps they are compensating.” Zevran waggled his eyebrows and Surana smacked him. 

“You two are going to get us _killed_ ,” she hissed as they passed through the market. 

As they drew nearer to the doors, Surana could clearly make out someone shouting. Closer still, and she saw Loghain’s banner flying and a man shouting at something around his navel. Something which as she drew near enough to catch “King Loghain will not stand for the delay of his personal messenger” turned out to be a dwarf in heavy plate with his arms businesslike behind his back and his expression profoundly annoyed. 

“He’s a _king_ now,” Surana muttered under her breath. “That’s a promotion from Regent, isn’t it?” 

“Veata.” The dwarf shook his head, voice booming and clear. “This land is held in trust by the sovereign dwarven kings and there will be no entry at this time.” 

“King Loghain demands the allegiance of the deshyrs or lords or whatever you call your assembly.” The human shouted back. “I am his _appointed_ messenger.” 

The dwarf raised one disinterested eyebrow. “I don’t care if you’re the king’s wiper. Orzammar will have no but it’s own until our throne is settled.” 

“Maker’s ballsack.” Surana gritted through her teeth. She took a breath and pushed to the front before effecting a smile. “Apologies. I have an urgent need to speak with your king.” 

“Who doesn’t, _elf_ ,” spat the human messenger. “If I can’t get in, no one should.” 

Surana bit the tip of her tongue to keep from snapping. 

“Orzammar has no king.” The dwarven doorguard turned his attention to her, possibly because she was the more polite of the two, possibly because he was trying to annoy Loghain’s messenger or possibly because looking her in the face wasn’t quite as much of a strain on his neck. “King Endrin Aeducan returned to the stone less than three weeks ago, sick over the loss of his sons. The Assembly has gone through a dozen votes without agreeing on a successor. If it is not settled soon, we risk civil war.” 

“Our timing is _uncanny_ ,” Morrigan scoffed.

Surana silently agreed. She exhaled slowly before speaking. “The Grey Wardens require the assistance of the dwarves in defeating this blight.”

Alistair produced the treaty in case the guard needed it for inspection. 

“The Grey Wardens betrayed King Cailan at Ostagar! They’re the sworn enemies of King Loghain.” Loghain’s messenger shouted. 

The dwarf ignored him and took the treaty, inspecting it and then offering it back to Alistair who tucked it safe away. 

“That is the royal seal, meaning only the Assembly may deal with this. Grey Wardens, you may pass.” 

“Thank you--”

“You’re letting in this--this _traitor_!?!” The messenger flung his finger in Surana’s face forcing her to stop dead in her tracks or risk putting her eye out. “In the name of King Loghain I _demand_ that you execute this . . . _stain_ on the honor of Ferelden.” 

“Aren’t the dwarves their own Kingdom?” Leliana asked. 

Alistair, Wynne and Zevran all nodded. 

Surana drew herself up to her full height, unimpressive, but she was standing immediately beside Sten who was still covered in blood. 

“Return to your false king,” She informed the messenger. “The dwarves will not hear him today.” 

The man’s hand went for his sword and then he froze under Sten’s icy glare. He swallowed and stammered a vague and predictable threat about her death at Loghain’s hands and Surana shrugged both shoulders, too annoyed to be intimidated. 

“Apologies,” she turned her attention back to the guard. “You must get enough drama on your doorstep without my assistance.” 

If he cared, the guard made no demonstration of it. “You are free to enter Orzammar, though I do not know what help you will find.” 

There was a thunderous sound as the huge stone doors creaked open. Surana expected Orzammar to be black, but yellow light filled the hall, magma drawn up from the deepest bowels of the earth and used the way the tower had used torches. If anything, the dim felt like home. 

She had grown up in a world without windows and even when the doors closed behind her party, Surana realized she could see fine. 

“So, the Assembly is in chaos,” Alistair shook his head and sighed. 

“Five sovereigns says we will have to fix it in order to get the alliance we require.” 

Surana slumped, dejected. “I don’t take sucker bets. Let’s see if there’s. . . an inn . . . or something. I think we’re going to be here longer than we’d like.”

* * *


	2. Some Assembly Required

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana enters Orzammar's Commons and discovers the source of the chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! I was busy with NaNo, but I finished early. We should be back on my normal posting schedule again now, though I might be a little slower because Orzammar drags.

The massive doors didn’t lead immediately into the city. Between the outside world and another set of huge gold doors was a long, elaborate hallway decorated with statues of presumably long dead dwarves. 

“Atrast Vala, Warden,” a stern voice said, Surana, being short, only had to look down a little ways to meet the annoyed expression of a dwarven guard. She gave a small bob in greeting. “Your arrival is a mixed blessing. We generally do not prefer outsiders witness our infighting, but your presence will be tolerated.”

“I’m just here to help,” Surana said with a small, forced smile. “I don’t intend to cause any further trouble.”

“Hmph.” 

“Is it just me,” Sten noted with his standard not-quite displeasure as they walked further into the hall, “or do all these statues look alike?” 

“Those statues are dwarven paragons, if I remember right. The best of their ancestors,” Alistair told Neria, his hand lingering near but not touching hers. 

“How marvelous.” Wynne sighed. 

Surana nodded in silent agreement, taking in the rich orange glow of the lava (was it lava if it was visible but still underground? Or would that still make it magma. She’d never could remember.) So much warmer and dimmer than the torchlight that had illuminated the walls of the tower. 

“Do you think they sell miniatures of these in the city?” Leliana asked, “I would love to have some on my mantle.” 

Neria cracked a smile and shook her head. “If they’re icons of worship I doubt it, and I really wouldn’t ask.” She looked over at Morrigan. “Your thoughts?”

“If there is anything complimentary to say about these people, ‘tis that they possess a remarkable facility for carving stone.” 

“Right...” Surana wondered why she was still even a little bit surprised. 

The walk through the hall of ancients wasn’t long, but they took it slow, the more academic of their party pausing in front of statues to read what they could of the inscriptions (much of it was in dwarven but between Surana and Wynne they managed to decipher most of the basic ideas of who was being honored for what) until they reached the city proper. 

She hadn’t been certain what she expected, but the colossal cave the doors opened into wasn’t it. Metal glinted gold from the lake of lava (or was it magma) that provided heat and light to the entire city, a bridge spanning it to a huge building and all around the sounds of a market echoing off the distant rock. 

“Lava bad,” Shale informed them. “Don’t go near the lava.” 

“Are you sure it’s--” Surana shook her head. “Thank you, Shale.”

“You remember Lava but nothing else?” Zevran raised a curious eyebrow and then followed Shale’s gaze to the lake and gave an amused, dry chuckle. “What a remarkable amount of lava. Do you think anyone ever falls in?” 

“That’s terrible!” Leliana scolded. 

Surana took a deep breath and ran a hand over her braid. “Alright, let’s see about these trea--” 

Her attention was stolen by raised voices, two groups, their obvious leaders (a blond in black armor with a shield and sword and an older dwarf wearing noble’s finery) were shouting at one another. She looked up at her companions, tightened her grip on her staff and proceeded forward to catch what they were shouting about. 

“You should not speak that way about the man who should be king!” one of the dwarves standing at the armored dwarf’s side roared and swung his great axe, catching the dwarf who had insulted his lord behind the knee and flipping him so he landed on his back a half-second before the blow followed through and sliced him in half. 

A familiar shout for the guard went up and both parties hurried away, trading insults as they fled. 

Surana stared. 

“We have been here for ten minutes,” Sten commented, “and already we have witnessed a murder.” 

“Yeah.” Surana put a hand on her heart to steady it. “Let’s see what that was about.” 

“Stone-blind idiots,” the guard captain, notable by being the one directing other dwarves to clean up the body, “I won’t have fighting in the commons! Especially in front of outsiders.” 

“That would be us.” Surana managed another small smile and an awkward wave that only slightly moved her palm. “Neria Surana of the Grey Wardens. What was that and where would I find the assembly to speak with them?”

The guard captain snorted. “I am bid to let you walk the commons, surfacer, but keep your place. Warden or not, I want order.” 

“As do I,” Neria assured him. “The blight is coming and I need to speak with your assembly,” she paused over the word to make sure it was correct before continuing, “to secure Orzammar’s assistance.” 

“Surface problems,” he snorted again. “Well there’s no king to hear you. You can join the shouting at the assembly in the diamond quarter if you want.” As an aside he muttered, “buncha sodding deshyr lords bickering over sand” to himself before looking back at her. “Bhelen, Harrowmont. . . is one so different from the other? No Paragons here.” 

“Bhelen and Harrowmont, were those the ring leaders of what I just saw there?”

“The candidates for the crown, yes. Idiots.” 

“Do you know where I could find them?” 

The guard-captain looked at her like she had started speaking fluent Qunlat and then shook his head. “They’ve caged themselves for fear of each other,” and the way he said it perfectly captured his disdain for the whole affair. “It’s too hard to keep order down here around us _working_ folk. Bhelen speaks through his second, Vartag Gavorn, in the assembly. Lord Harrowmont speaks through Dulin Forender from his estate.” 

“Thank you. And sorry about all . . .” she gestured nebulously, “well . . . everything.” 

“Hrmph.” 

They split up into two parties. Morrigan, Leliana, Wynne and Zevran went to see about accommodations during their stay while Shale, Sten, Alistair and Stanton accompanied Surana in the general direction of the “Diamond Quarter”. 

“I have never heard of such a thing called a Qunari,” Shale said. Surana looked up at it and found that it was looking at Sten. Awkwardly, she realized that she had inadvertently chosen the three tallest members of her party and hoped no one would think she was making a statement. And also that they would all be able to fit through doors. 

“Then you have not been listening,” Sten replied evenly. “We did not row to shore last year, we have been about for centuries.” 

“I have listened. I have done little else, in fact, and yet I do not remember anyone mentioning such a Qunari in all my years in the village.” 

Surana was tempted to point out that it was more likely that the people in the village had just not used the word, they had probably called them “oxmen” or “giants”. However, she supposed Sten likely felt the same way about “oxman” that she felt about “knife-ear” (though Sten’s emotional stance on most things was hard to gauge) and so it wasn’t something she was going to mention. 

“Relying on humans as a source of education is a fool’s errand,” Sten said. 

“Hey!” Alistair interjected. Surana gave his arm a pat and looked around for another sign to keep them from getting lost. 

“They are rather ignorant, aren’t they?” Shale looked _directly_ at Alistair while it spoke. “And feeble. At the best of times.”

“Let it go Alistair,” Surana suggested, “it’s not worth the argument.”

“You don’t think I’m feeble, do you? I’m not feeble. They’re hurting my manly feelings.” 

“We have creatures on Par Vollen that are similar.” Sten touched Surana’s shoulder lightly and pointed towards what was probably the right direction. “The humans call them “monkeys”. They are dull, cowardly vermin. They cry out shrilly when threatened and throw their own feces.” 

“That is an excellent comparison. I wonder if they are related?”

“Possibly.”

“That’s enough you two,” Surana sighed, shaking her head. “Our humans are valued and important members of this team.” 

Stanton barked. 

“I’m feeling rather outnumbered,” Alistair huffed. 

“You are,” Surana shrugged, “but the rest of us feel that way all the time.” She gave him a smile and a small shrug.

“That’s fair, I suppose.” 

“Did you see that?” A scandalized dwarven woman shook her head. Surana immediately assumed that the “that” in question was herself or her companions. “This would never have happened while Endrin was alive.” 

“Me or the--” Surana pointed to herself and then to the body being cleaned up behind them. “Ah. People seem to be at each other’s throats.”

“The city is torn apart. King Endrin is dead and the Assembly can’t decide who takes the throne--Lord Harrowmont , or that _monster_ Bhelen.” 

“You don’t care for Bhelen?” Surana asked. “Why?”

“Everyone knows that Bhelen killed his brother Tiran and let Endrin’s favorite son take the blame. And many question whether Endrin died abed as we were told… or whether Bhelen helped him along!” 

Fratricide, possible patricide and regicide all mixed into one. It was almost a shame she’d left Zevran with the team gathering supplies. He’d love this. Probably Leliana would as well, not that that was particularly comforting to think about. 

“Did you know King Endrin?”

The dwarven woman bowed her head. “Only as a potential match for one of his sons. He was a good king--stern and fair and just.” 

Surana nodded and found that she _immediately_ trusted everything this woman said less because of her involvement with the King’s children in the middle of this. It was a painful realization, one she hoped she would overcome. Trust was important, the basis of cooperation. 

But after Uldred and Zathrian and Loghain . . . trust was difficult. 

“Thank you,” she said instead. “I’ll think on it.” 

“You come at a sad time, Stranger. I’m going home to wait it out, I suggest you do the same.” 

“Home,” Surana replied, a touch of sadness coiling at the corners of her mouth. “I’ll think about it.

* * *

The Diamond Quarter was _up_. The angles were sharper on the stone architecture and there was actual ornamentation, patterns in gold and silver along the outside of buildings like river veins. It was cleaner too, and there was a more active presence by the city guard. 

“So . . . the closer you live to the surface, the higher class you are? Unless you’re actually _on_ the surface?” Alistair cocked a smile and an eyebrow. Surana chuckled and nodded. 

“A higher class of midget lives here, I wager.” Shale contributed. 

“I would still suggest _against_ calling anyone a midget, Shale.” 

Surana looked up and down the wide, flat streets. “We should speak with Bhelen and Harrowmont’s seconds and see what help they can give us with this.”

“They might take offense to us talking to both of them,” Alistair commented. “If they’re already paranoid.” 

“Point.” Surana ran a hand over her braid. “But I’m getting the _distinct_ impression that the assembly won’t be able to help us until this mess gets fixed.” She groaned. “But we need to _try_.” She exchanged a look with Sten. “I don’t want this taking longer than necessary, we have a blight to stop.” 

Sten nodded. 

The assembly was no help without a king. A bunch of angry dwarves shouting at one another without a unifying voice to decide a vote. Vartag, even was off running an errand for his Prince but slowly, Surana began to piece together the platforms. 

Bhelen was a reformer, in favor of opening more trade with the surface, beginning to dismantle the caste system and other “undwarven” things. There was something of a scandal surrounding him and a casteless woman, but Surana couldn’t get any details. He had murdered his brother and let the other brother take the fall for it. A murdering bastard, yes, but progressive. 

Harrowmont was the more obvious candidate. He was stricter, more traditional, and had a reputation for being a just administrator. But he hated the surface and wanted to impose _more_ restrictions on the casteless in favor of benefiting the nobles. 

At a loss for what other decisions she could make, Surana turned to what she had found was the more reliable source of information no matter _where_ she was: The Library. 

The Shaperate was the first place in Orzammar that felt comfortable. The walls were lit with a pale blue glow from the carefully managed fungus permitted to grow behind glass. Books upon books lined the tall stone shelves, words were carved into stone slabs and into the very walls. Surana’s smile grew open and genuine. She wanted to read everything, even though her understanding of dwarven was rudimentary at best. 

“Warden!” An assistant shouted for her the moment she was in view and Surana spun and froze. Stanton crouching at her side, ears flat to his head. 

“Y-yes?” 

“I’m outraged!” 

_Flames, what did I do this ti--_

“A thief in the Shaperate! What have we been reduced to?” 

“Oh! Wait--what? I . . . did you get a good look at him?” 

“I did. Bald with a garish brand across his head, almost like he took pride in being casteless. Imagine!” 

Surana’s hand went immediately for her ears. 

The assistant sighed. “He’s probably in the slums somewhere. As if he’d find a buyer for a stolen tome in dust town. They wouldn’t know the value.” 

A few shelves in, Surana was peering at a book when a young woman got her attention, giving her name as Orta and asking if Surana was going into the deep roads, a fair question, wardens in Orzammar were usually going into the deep roads. Surana promised that if she found anything about house Ortan she’d let her know and then asked if there was anyone who could help her with this Bhelen/Harrowmont thing. 

Shale was being gawked at and when Surana made her way over she found that the Shaper of Memories was in danger of having his head crushed if he didn’t stop asking Shale who it belonged to. 

“Shale doesn’t,” Surana said, rocking on the balls of her feet. “That would be why you don’t recognize it.”

“A pity, every golem is precious to us, we would pay a hefty sum--”

“I’d sooner jump into a pit of lava.” “No thanks.” Shale and Surana spoke at the same time, interrupting each other as they did. 

The shaper nodded. “Unfortunate. Is there anything I can tell you about Orzammar, Warden?”

“Um, yes, actually.” She flipped her braid back over her shoulder, “and about golems in general, while we’re on the subject.”


	3. Picking A Side, Any Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana runs errands for Prince Bhelen Aeducan and feels uneasy about it.

They left the Diamond Quarter with a better understanding of the situation but not feeling any closer to fixing Orzammar’s political situation enough to get the treaties honored. Surana’s feet hurt and she knew that Alistair had a crick in his neck from looking down constantly. She was tempted to throw her hands up into the air and leave, return to the surface and take her chances against the blight without Orzammar’s backing because apparently _no one_ in all of bloody Thedas could act like an adult long enough to deal with the current crisis. 

But she wouldn’t risk Ferelden on pettiness and irritation. They needed all the allies they could muster and her annoyance and inconvenience was a small price to pay. She would feel better with something to eat in her hand and the rest of her friends around her, she would draw comfort and council from their inevitable bickering and, who knew, maybe Morrigan would intimidate the assembly into functioning or Zevran would fix it all with a knife stroke. Maybe Wynne would send both Bhelen and Harrowmont to their bloody rooms. 

“Oh! Um! Excuse me!” 

Surana turned, feeling heavy and irritable to look at the high pitched voice that wanted her attention _now_. She forced a small smile for the young dwarf, rocking on her toes with her hair done back in a triad of pigtails and her button nose smudged with oil. 

“You look like you’re not from around here.”

Surana nodded and managed a weary smile because while she couldn’t _really_ tell how old the dwarf girl in front of her was she _seemed_ young, maybe several years younger and Surana herself. “You could say that.” 

“Oh! Wonderful.” The dwarf clapped her hands together and rocked up on the balls of her feet. “I’m been looking for someone who knows the surface world! I--I don’t suppose you’ve heard of something called ‘The Circle?’”

Surana nodded. “I was raised there, in fact. Why do you ask?” 

“Then I am truly honored!” It was only the way the girl’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open a bit that kept Surana from feeling mocked. She would have replied but almost immediately a wave of questions poured out of the other woman’s mouth. “Is it true that you can manipulate the forces of nature with only your mind? Like you were born with lyrium in your _veins_?”

“Uh . . . yes?” Surana shuffled her weight awkwardly, keenly aware of Sten’s disapproval on her neck. 

“I can only imagine . . .” 

“So . . . uh . . . what can I help you with?” 

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of someone there--the Circle I mean--for _years_. I’ve sent missives with every caravan but I never get a reply. I want to know if they’d accept me for study.” 

“You . . . you actually _want_ to go to the Circle?” Surana put her hand to her forehead, feeling almost faint. “I could. . . I could ask, I suppose? I know the First Enchanter but, do you really want to leave Orzammar?” 

“I want to _study_ , I don’t want to _do_ magic. Dwarves can’t cast spells but that’s no reason why I shouldn’t study it. It would be a profitable exchange! Orzammar would gain knowledge about one of the most powerful sources on the surface _and_ the Circle gains direct access to our knowledge of lyrium smithing.” 

The enthusiasm was catching. Surana nodded. “I can certainly see the value in that and I think Irving would too. They’ve just recovered from something of a crisis but extra hands would probably--I’ll ask him. If I get a chance. If nothing else I can write him when I get back to the surface.” 

“Thank you! My name’s Dagna, daughter of Janar of the Smith caste.” Dagna was practically bouncing. “Tell them I’m already reading the Tevinter Imperium’s “Foritkuum Katab” and it’s just _fascinating_. Did you know that the Imperium once kept genealogies of every human family known to produce a mage child?” 

Surana nodded. “If you’re enjoying the Katab you should look for a copy of _Beyond The Veil_ by Enchanter Mirdromel. It deals predominantly with the Fade but I thought it was much more interesting.” 

“I will! And--and thank you again! I’ll go pack my bags immediately! Thank you!” 

Surana watched as Dagna half-skipped towards the merchant district and shook her head in awe at the sight. Alistair’s hand settled on her shoulder. 

“Are you--”

“I’m fine. Confused, but . . . fine.” 

Her feelings were honestly more complicated than that. The longer she spent away from the Circle, the more she was forced to realize how glad she was to be free of it. But Dagna had a _choice_ and deserved to be free to make it. She set her hand over Alistair’s on her shoulder and turned her head to press a small kiss to the tip of his finger. “Come on, let’s find the others.” 

She hurried in the direction of the tavern before anyone could comment on the affection shown, figuring that it was the logical place to start. 

#  
There wasn’t an _inn_ really, but there was a bar. Tapsters smelled strongly of vomit and stale liquor and smoke, no one was happy about it, least of all Stanton who gagged and whined and pawed at his nose as Surana found Zevran and the others nestled into a far corner of the bar where the noise was at least a little muffled by another thick slab of stone. 

“Any luck with a place to stay?” Surana asked. 

“Probably Dust Town this evening,” Zevran said, “though, I would suggest a watch rotation more stringent than what we usually have.” 

“ _Lovely_ ,” Surana sighed. “Well, anything _else_ interesting?” 

“You’ve heard about the strains between Harrowmont and Bhelen, I assume,” Morrigan was sitting so far forward in her seat that she may as well have been hovering to avoid touching anything. “‘twould seem that one of these men must be made king before anything else can be handled.” 

Surana groaned. “Anyone have any feelings on that front?” 

“The common people seem most in favor of Bhelen, though many fear that his open support for the casteless will cause greater problems with crime.” 

Zevran snorted. “Because stepping on them works so well? It is the same with Alienages, is it not? But it always seems to be that the tighter you squeeze, the more lucrative crime seems.” 

“Speaking from experience?” Alistair asked. 

Zevran nodded happily. 

“Still, Bhelen seems like . . .” Surana looked for a kinder word but settled on “a bastard. Everything we’ve heard indicates that Harrowmont’s the better person and a fine administrator. That should matter.”

“I don’t care how we decide so long as a decision is made.” Sten interjected. “Though I would like to leave this place. The stench is overwhelming.”

Surana chewed her cheek. “Bhelen then. Let’s go see what he needs us to do to make this all smoother. Flames, maybe we can stay with him instead of sleeping in Dust Town.” 

“Should we all go?” Wynne asked, “Perhaps it would be better for only a few of us to go at once, we are less intimidating that way.” 

Surana shook her head. “No. I _want_ us intimidating while we’re here. This is taking too long already.” 

“I agree.” 

#  
Surana walked next to Leliana as the whole group made their way back to the Diamond Quarter. Leliana seemed to be taking everything in, her eyes drinking in the gold bouncing from the walls. “I have heard many tales about the great halls of the dwarven kings, but none of them do it justice. It is so strange--harsh, yet beautiful.” 

“Too stony for me,” Surana shrugged. “And I miss the sky. I spent too much of my life under a roof.”

“The stone is part of it’s charm. It’s so different, I love it.” Leliana’s expression darkened slightly, but she forced it back to brightness. “And have you seen those adorable burrowing pig-like creatures?” 

“The . . . nugs? Nugs, I think.” 

“They’re so precious, I would love to have one as a pet but they must be so hard to catch.” She laughed. “Ignore me, I can be so silly sometimes.” 

“I can try and find you a nug. And maybe something for Morrigan. Little things for everyone,” Surana nodded. “I think . . . I saw a glasiers earlier, Morrigan would probably like a mirror, she takes such care with her appearance. And maybe . . . they have runestones Alistair might like.”

“Perhaps a new knife for Zevran?” Leliana contributed. 

“Books for Wynne and I wonder if there are dwarven snack cakes Sten would like.” 

“And what about you, Neria?” 

Surana shrugged. “Books, I guess. But really, let’s keep an eye out on the stalls while we’re here.”

They made their purchases when they found something, a mirror for Morrigan, beautiful rocks and unworked silver for Shale and Zevran, a rune for Alistair and ribbons for one another. Spending coin, Zevran had assured them all, was a good way to ensure that the merchants liked you, and more allies in Orzammar the better. 

They found Vartag at the assembly hall, a stocky dwarf with a thin beard, proudly wearing the colors of what Surana assumed was house Aeducan. He greeted her with a bow. “Atrast Vala, Wardens. It is always an honor for Orzammar to host your order. I am Vartag Gavorn, top advisor to our good Prince Bhelen. What news do you bring?”

“This treaty,” Surana produced the scroll from her pack, “binds Orzammar to offer the Grey Wardens aid in the event of a Blight.” 

Vartag took the treaty and made a great show of looking it over before he nodded and handed it back. “Ancient documents indeed, signed during the reign on Einher Bemot, paragon and king, that was sixteen generations ago.” 

Surana hoped she looked suitably impressed that he had that memorized. 

“Now,” Vartag said, letting the word dangle so she _knew_ he would be asking for something. “The difficulty is that the treaty only compels our _king_ , and we are sadly lacking one of those right now.” 

Surana had to forcibly restrain a groan as she asked, “how can I help?” instead of snapping that the Blight was more important than this petty power squabble. Snapping wouldn’t earn her any friends and they desperately needed friends. 

Vartag smiled. “My lord, Prince Bhelen is the rightful heir to the throne but a . . . _disappointing_ number of lords back the upstart Harrowmont. If you show your support for Prince Bhelen, he might be able to help with your requests.” 

“May I speak with the Prince?” 

“You must understand,” Vartag said with an almost convincing air of apologetic misery. “Harrowmont hides behind his good reputation while sending spies and assassins, Bhelen can not know who to trust. It’s been like a knife in the heart for Bhelen to see so many of his father’s men stand with the usurper.

_Probably because Endrin really_ did _say that he didn’t want Bhelen to be king._ Surana thought, though she didn’t doubt the bit about spies and assassins. She hoped Morrigan wasn’t actively smacking herself in the face with irritation. 

“How can I prove to Prince Bhelen my good intentions?” 

“Harrowmont has begun a campaign of bribery and coercion to ensure that every noble house serves him. _But_ if a neutral party, a stranger, could approach these people, perhaps with irrefutable evidence of Harrowmont’s deception…” Vartag’s smile twisted from sincere to sinister, “I am certain my Lord Prince would show his gratitude.” 

Unease slid oily under Surana’s skin. She reminded herself that it was probably true that Harrowmont was deceiving people and that Bhelen was the one working for the lower classes and neither of these facts made her feel any better about asking what needed to be done and receiving paperwork proving a real estate scam and the names of the two houses being cheated. 

Lord Helmi was easy enough to find, drinking back at Tapsters--the tavern--but when they found Lady Dace they learned that only her father could absolve the deal made with Harrowmont. 

Which meant that to Surana’s irritation they had to go a short ways into the deep roads to find him. Lady Dace gave them a map and a pass and Surana returned to Vartag to let him know they’d be a day or two in the tunnels. It was a two day trip all told, mercifully free of darkspawn. Aeducan Thaig, where Lord Dace had gone, was closest to Orzammar of the lost thaigs and easy to travel to, only most of a day out from the city. 

Of course, that was most of a day in the dark, listening to the things that skittered out of sight down passages she couldn’t see and the distant humming rumble of darkspawn just on the edge of her hearing. She already didn’t like the deep roads. 

Dwarven lanterns lasted for ages, a technique involving geothermics and flame runes that Surana understood only in loose theory from a book she’d read as a teenager, but they only did so much against the almost suffocating blackness of the deep roads and the unexplainable feeling of having so much dirt over one’s head. 

They found Lord Dace in Aeducan Thaig, under what Surana could only describe as “siege” by deepstalkers, a sort of serpentine subterranean scavenger that hunted in packs of up to fifteen. He was grateful for the rescue, and for the exposure of Harrowmont’s double dealing (something Surana felt a _little_ bad about because she wasn’t _certain_ it was legitimate).

He was a pleasant sort, however, Surana discovered as they joined his expedition on the way back to Orzammar. Generous with compliment and with food. He spoke softly and laughed loudly and was more than happy to share what he knew about Orzammar’s history and the political structures at play so she and her companions would trip less as they tried to negotiate the social strata. 

She hoped Harrowmont _was_ trying to deceive him, because otherwise the deception of a good man would rest on her shoulders.


	4. Dusters To Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bhelen has the party take out the Carta.

Lord Dace invited them to stay in his estate the evening they returned to Orzammar and Surana was quickly starting to realize that she had no idea what time it was, or even how many days it had been. If the dwarves had some way of telling time without the sun to guide them, it was lost on her, and that was deeply, deeply unsettling considering that she was on a rather important deadline. 

Space was at a premium in Orzammar, but food and drink were not amongst the noble houses so Surana and her party were well wined and dined before the bedded down all in the most spacious of Lord Dace’s extra rooms. Surana curled up beside Alistair, not quite close enough to touch him and held his eyes for a time before they closed. Leliana nestled up beside her, fingers combing through Surana’s unbraided hair until they both drifted off to sleep. 

The next morning, or as near to morning as Surana could guess, they returned to the assembly hall to speak with Vartag and, hopefully, with Bhelen at last. They would speak, she had moved votes around in the assembly, he would be king and then, finally, she could put this whole dwarven mess behind her and focus on what _mattered_ : Stopping the damn Blight. 

Surana managed to cling to the optimism the entire jaunt to the Assembly hall. Vartag looked pleased to bursting as he related how Lady Dace had come through on a tear shortly after her father’s return, telling anyone who would listen about how Harrowmont tried to double cross her house. 

“So you were serious about wanting to help us.” 

Surana’s fragile optimism gave a quiet death rattle as she nodded and realized with plummeting certainty that it wasn’t going to be _that_ easy. 

“Are you ready to meet Prince Bhelen now?” 

“Yes,” she said simply, having been ready to meet him two days ago when this whole mess started. 

“I warn you, be on your best behaviour, and keep your weapons sheathed.” Vartag escorted them from the Assembly Hall to Orzammar’s royal palace. Any surprise Surana might have felt that Bhelen was still living in his father’s house was squashed when Sten commented idly that for such a short people they built rather tall houses. She chuckled and shook her head, muttering “thank you, Kadan,” as they walked and refusing to elaborate as Vartag showed them through the ornate doors and down a long hallway to Prince Bhelen’s study. 

The Prince smiled warmly and stood up from what he had been doing. “I’m impressed, Wardens,” he looked from her to Alistair and back. “Not many outsiders so quickly grasp Orzammar’s . . . convoluted politics.” 

Everything about him made her uncomfortable. He was too relaxed, too smiley, and too convinced he was absolutely in control. 

“Orzammar’s not much more complicated than other places,” Surana said, donning a smile that was mostly a mimicry of how Morrigan looked at Sten, equal parts amusement and disdain. It didn’t quite fit on Surana’s mouth, but the effort was important. “Antiva, for example.” 

Zevran snorted a short laugh. 

Bhelen’s smile widened and warmed. “Vartag told me of your efforts against the usurper who tried to claim my father’s throne.” 

Surana’s attempted smile fell and she gave him an exasperated sigh. “Look, your highness, my concern is simply about gathering troops to face the Blight.” 

Bhelen’s mask fell away and that was the only thing about him that Surana took comfort in. He knew when to stop playing. “Then we have a common goal. We may not like each other, but we need absolute unity to fight against the fulcrum of true evil.” 

Relief washed over her in waves. “Then you’ll honor your agreement with the Grey Wardens?” 

“Absolutely!” Bhelen nodded enthusiastically, “And sworn on the mail of my ancestors. Just as soon as Orzammar is united under my rule.”

_Damn it_.

“Until then,” Bhelen continued to explain, “I have no power to send troops with you. You’ve seen for yourself; the city is a slaughterhouse. Criminals run lawless. I could never hold the throne if I allowed such chaos.” 

“This is true,” Zevran interjected at Surana’s side. “In fact, before we met up at the . . . I’ll be generous and call it a tavern, Morrigan and I interrupted a protection racket in the process of going sour.” 

Surana’s attention shifted from the prince to her friend. “You didn’t think that was worth mentioning earlier?”

“Mmm, not particularly.” 

She groaned and turned her attention back to Bhelen. The words “how can I help” were going to get her killed, but she said them anyway and watched as his expression predictably cheered. 

“You’ve already struck a blow against Harrowmont, and I thank you for that, but there is another power at work here.” 

“The criminals you mentioned?” Surana asked, not particularly surprised. 

Bhelen nodded. “Have you heard of a woman named Jarvia and the carta of criminals she runs?” 

Surana looked at Zevran who nodded. 

“You want us to wipe out this carta then?” Surana reached up to her braid and twisted it into a bun. “In your name and prove that you’re the best hope for peace and order in Orzammar.” 

“You won’t be able to wipe out the entire carta, they’re secretive and they settle as constantly as dust, but the division in Orzammar has made them bold. They know that the guard is divided and no one has time for them. Jarvia’s only the current head.” 

“I’ll go deal with her then.” 

“Your eagerness is charming,” Bhelen inclined his head. “Do this and I swear the troops are yours the moment I have my father’s throne.” 

“We’ll be back soon.” 

“I eagerly await your return.” 

Surana gave a minute curtsey in response, the toe of her left foot coming behind the heel of her right as she dipped somewhat awkwardly. Bhelen chuckled as they walked away and she kept her tongue carefully behind her teeth until they were outside. 

“He seems nice,” Zevran said, eyebrows rising and mouth twisting sharply. “One of the more courteous back stabbers I’ve known and, as an assassin, you can imagine that I’ve met quite a few.” 

She sighed. “Think he’s likely to?”

“Of course not,” Zevran shrugged. “We are more of an asset alive and helping, are we not?”

“I suppose that’s true. Let’s go get the others and I guess fight crime.” 

* * *

“Certainly lives up to its name.” Morrigan observed with obvious disdain as they entered dust town. She wasn’t wrong. The dwarven slums were full of broken buildings crumbling into the aforementioned dust, ratty leather was used to fill holes and construct small, shanty tents.

It was suspiciously quiet, the way rooms full of rats or roaches went quiet when a light went on. The hair on the back of Surana’s neck stood up on end. 

“Aha! I smell a seedy underbelly, warts and all. It is much like an alienage, is it not, Neria?” 

“I . . . wouldn’t know, Zevran. Tower and all.” Surana stuck close to her companions. “But if it is, are people really forced to live like this?” 

“Why do the poor not rise up against their betters? This I never understood." Morrigan scoffed.

“Peasant uprisings rarely go as well as all that, my dear Morrigan.” Zevran said with a sagely nod.

"I... I think I just stepped in something." Leliana did a small skip-jump to the side out of whatever it was she had stepped on. 

“We are here to kill them all, yes?” Shale echoed. “For sport?”

“Absolutely not.” Surana snapped. She took a breath and shook her head. “Let’s just . . . get on with it.” 

Surana kept her eyes ahead of her, grateful for the friends on all sides and more determined than ever that if Bhelen wanted to _fix_ this then she didn’t care if he was the worst bastard dwarf in Thedas. Someone should fix this. She chewed the inside of her cheek while she tried to work out the best way to search for this “carta,” letting her eyes wander aimlessly down around waist height until they settled on a dwarf covered in nug blood and holding a butcher knife. 

Leliana would have a fit if she noticed. 

And Zevran did caution her about flashing coin in places or they’d attract the wrong kind of attention. Well, the wrong kind of attention was _exactly_ what she needed. 

“Give me a minute,” she said, raising a hand to indicate that everyone should stay put. Stanton disobeyed, but together, just an elf and her dog, they certainly looked less intimidating as she made her way over to the nug butcher. 

“Fancy clothes,” he said, looking up at her from what he was doing. “You get them topside?”

“Yes, actually. I’m Neria and this is Stanton.” She set her hand on Stanton’s head. “I wanted to ask you about the little rodents I’ve seen around here. The . . . nugs?” She tilted her head when she asked, affecting innocent curiosity. 

“Handy little creatures. Not much meat on ‘em, but ‘round here you can’t be too picky. Why?” 

“Could you catch me one?” 

He laughed. “What for? You gonna kill and cook ‘em yourself?” 

Neria shook her head and laughed right along with him. “No, my friend thinks they’re cute and wants one for a pet.” 

The butcher looked past her to the group of confused, armed individuals and shrugged. “I could catch you one. From outside the city. The ones in the roads don’t eat as much garbage. I don’t know what they eat actually, but they always seem healthy, shinier coats, brighter eyes. How much would you give me?” 

Neria made a show of jingling her coin pouch while she checked it’s contents. “Twenty silver?” 

The butcher whisted. “ _Real silver_? I’ll get you a big one.” 

“I appreciate it.” 

She smiled as he took off and made her way back to the party in time to pick Alistair’s confused jaw off the ground. “What was that?” 

“Shopping.”

“In the slums?” Zevran wrinkled his nose. “Perhaps I was not clear enough earlier about how that was not a good idea.” 

“You were.” Surana assured him.

“Then why--”

“Two reasons, the first is that if we get jumped we can question our ambushers. The second is that you pointed out that spending coin makes one popular. Two possible directions for information and that doubles our odds of finding who we’re looking for.” 

Zevran closed his mouth. 

“Also Leliana likes nugs.” Surana grinned over at Leliana where she was talking with Wynne. “So I bought her a nug.” 

They walked a little further until a voice from below caught their attention. Sitting on a ratted blanket near a trash fire was a dwarven woman who had probably once been very beautiful. She pulled herself up most of the way to sitting, a crutch at the side indicated that she was a cripple, but she smiled. “Well, look at that. It’s not often ol’ Nadezda sees a pack of fine-dressed strangers here in Dust Town. Help a poor cripple?” 

“Here’s five silver,” Surana replied without looked at her companions. “Buy yourself something to eat.” 

Nadezda looked simultaneously shocked and brightened as she took the coin. “You’re as generous as you are beautiful. I owe you when I get back on my feet,” she laughed, “if my feet still worked.” She sighed and shook her head. “Takes a stranger to notice how bad things are, doesn’t it? No dwarf would lift a sodding finger.” Nadezda gave a small shrug. “Excuse my language.” 

“How’d you get crippled?” Surana asked. 

“I’d say it was an accident, try to get some sympathy coin, but you look like you’d rather hear the truth. I was running protection for the carta when a guard caught us. Duster I was with had coin for a bribe but I took a stand.” Nadezda wrinkled her nose and grunted, shifting so she could pull her filthy skirt up over her knees. Her knees were a scarred mess, bulging and red. Surana winced and took a small step back. Nadezda lowered her skirt. “Guardsman broke my sodding kneecaps and had me kneel in dung until the infection set in. Never healed proper.” 

“They can get away with that?” Surana barely registered the horrified jump in her volume, speaking in a tight, panicked voice. 

“I don’t know what it’s like where you’re from, stranger, but in Orzammar the casteless have no lineage, so it’s no crime to hurt you. You’re born to wear a branded face and you’ll live your life in Dust Town.” 

“Not so different from some of the Alienages I’ve seen,” Zevran clicked his tongue. 

Surana swallowed uncomfortably and covered Alistair’s hand with her own when he set his on her shoulder. 

“So, what takes you out of the Diamond Quarter,” Nadezda changed the subject with ease. “Got a vice you’re looking for old Nadezda to fill?” 

“Do you know a woman named Jarvia?” Surana asked. 

“ _Know_ her, ha. I used to run with her. Jarvia took over the carta not more than a year ago and already she’s got every duster with both legs bearing swords for her. 

“Do you know what I can find her?” 

“Not that easy. She’s been real careful since her lieutenant died. Real paranoid. She’s got all the carta members carrying these little fingerbone tokens to open the doors. They’ve got little marks scratched into them so she _knows_ they came from her. There’s doors all over the city, but only one is ever open at a time, and if you show up without a token, you’d never know it was there.” 

Surana nodded and gave another, small smile. She was now marginally more optimistic about the whole situation. If they got jumped by carta members, they could get the token they needed and get in that way. It was something at least. 

She said goodbye to Nadezda and the party withdrew to the shade (in so far as shade could exist in a place without sun) of a dilapidated shack. “If there are too many of us we’re less likely to lure out trouble,” Surana advised. “So we need to split up. Kadan,” she turned to Sten. “You, Leliana, Morrigan, and Wynne will backtrack the way we came, stop by the butcher and tell him you’re with me on the off chance he’s got something for us. Shale, Alistair, Zevran, Stanton and I will loiter and see if we can draw attention to ourselves.” 

“Are you sure this is wise, Kadan.” 

“Not overly, but we’re too threatening as a larger group. We’ll meet back at Nadezda’s fire in half and hour.” 

* * *

The half hour dragged with nothing more exciting than a short brawl with the carta thug that had stolen the book from the Shaperate. Surana went through his pockets, looking for the fingerbone token and finding to her dismay that Shale had accidentally crushed it to a fine powder. There was a receipt for the Proving Grounds, which was at least a lead on _something_ , though not what she was looking for.

Disappointing, but not the end of the world, Surana reminded herself. According to both Bhelen and Nadezda the carta was everywhere, they would have another opportunity. 

She hoped. She just hoped it was soon. Dust Town was filthy and smelled it. Surana turned down an alley on her way back to Nadezda’s fire, hoping that the others were safe _and_ that they’d found something. 

“Who’re you?” A suspicious voice demanded from a corner. Out stepped a surly, and surprisingly beardless dwarf in heavy armor with a casteless brand on his face and a goon on either side. “You don’t look like any guardsman I ever saw, and that’s not much of a uniforms iffin none of you match.” 

Surana looked down at her blue robes which were very different from Alistair’s silver plate or Zevran’s leathers. He wasn’t wrong. She thought about the uniform Duncan had set out for her. The one she couldn’t wear because it would make her a target for every hired sword Loghain could find. She reached up the to pendant around her neck and smoothed her thumb over the embossed griffon. “I’m a Grey Warden.” 

“Oh?” the dwarf raised an eyebrow and she could almost see golden coins in his eyes. “Don’t suppose you’re looking for the chance to make some coin. Could be I have that opportunity. Especially for someone with a few connections above-ground.”

“I’d have to hear what this “opportunity” is first,” Surana said, choosing her words carefully. 

“Human kings, they have these . . . ridiculous laws. Like about who gets to buy and sell lyrium, the sacred gift the stone gives us to show her love. No one should regulate that.” 

_Maker’s Ass_. Surana exhaled slowly through her nose. 

“The laws are meant to keep mages away from the stuff, but there are _always_ buyers in the Circle Tower. In particular a fellow named Godwin.” 

Surana raised an eyebrow in surprise and had to correct back to neutral, hoping the lyrium dealer didn’t notice. Godwin was a mage, not a templar. There was nothing _he_ could be doing with the lyrium that was at all productive. Probably selling it to some of the twitchier templars and hoping that he didn’t get caught or that his customers didn’t get snappish. Idiot. 

“I could sell it to you instead,” the dwarf continued. “For the reasonable price of say . . . fifty sovereigns? You could keep it or--since you can freely leave the city--sell it to Godwin, who you know is buying. And, uh, if you bring back his return order, I could pay you say . . . twenty sovereigns as a finders fee?” 

“Fifty’s a bit much if you have no other options.” Surana crossed her arms over her chest. “Forty.”

“Neria, what are you--” 

Surana turned her head to offer Alistair a comforting smile in the face of his discomfort.

The dwarf frowned and produced a small box, about a half-pound in weight. He handed it to Surana and she handed him forty coins. “You haggle like a merchant born. I’ll be waiting for his return order somewhere out of sight, say . . . just around the corner there.” The dwarf gestured with his thumb. “You, ah, probably don’t want to take it out of the box.” 

“I know.” Surana knelt and tucked the box into her pack, under her spare set of robes and a bunch of reagents. 

“Neria?” Alistair asked again. “What are you doing?” 

“Never know when you’re going to need lyrium, Alistair. And besides, I’d rather Godwin not have this. If he gets caught, particularly so soon after what happened with . . . with Uldred.” She shook her head. “The circle needs stability right now. It doesn’t need an excuse for Greagoir to come down on anyone like a hammer. Besides . . . some templars turn to lyrium as a comfort when things are . . . bad. I don’t. . . the withdrawals are bad and taking more than the prescribed philter can do . . . unpleasant things. Speed up the process of the lyrium burning away someone’s mind.” 

“Cullen?” Alistair asked. 

“Everyone, actually,” she swallowed, desperate to not admit that down here, in the bowels of Thedas, her concern still jumped back to Rutherford. “The Circle just went through hell. Let’s just . . . see if the others have found anything.” 

What the other had found was similarly disappointed, though Leliana asked for permission to wander off to right the wrong of a woman named Zerlinda being asked to abandon her infant son in the deep roads because she was a merchant caste and her son (by right of his disappearing lout of a father) was casteless. Surana agreed that something had to be done about that and was both pleased and a little relieved when Leliana and Wynne left _together_ to sort that mess out and see to it that the baby would be fine. 

Tender hearts. 

Other than that, however, they had had no success finding and running afoul of any carta members. Sten had had the nug sent to the royal palace to wait for them because he saw no point in the rodent in the first place, much less in having it tag along _with_ them. 

“Any _other_ ideas then?” Surana asked, grateful when Zevran fished a few snacks from his pack for everyone. 

“I suggest we begin breaking in doors,” Shale said. “Surely one of them will lead to this Jarvia. And then we can crush her head. I will do it.” 

Surana exhaled through her nose. “I’d rather not earn the ire of _everyone_ in Dust Town. Any _other_ ideas?”

“Let us ask one of these dwarves. There are plenty and many seem desperate enough for coin to give us any information that we might seek.”

Surana nodded and reached for her braid before remembering that it was tied up in a bun and settling for rubbing her hand over the back of her neck. “You’ve got a point there.” 

“Naturally.” 

It almost fifty silver, split into smaller bribes, but eventually they got pointed in the direction of one of the nicer buildings on the block. Meaning, mostly, that it had most of four walls and a roof. 

“Care to do the honors, Shale?” Surana asked, taking a step aside and gesturing to the door. Shale probably would have smiled, if its face had been capable of doing so. Instead, it reared one massive stone arm back and hit the door square in the center, denting the metal. There was a cry from inside the building and Shale reared back with its other arm and delievered a second blow that knocked the door in. 

“Portable battering ram. Riiiight,” Alistair said, staring at Shale in distant awe before dropping his shield into guard. “I see what you meant now.” 

The carta members inside had mostly managed to miss the door as it crumpled inwards. Surana was met with a sneer from chest high. “Look what we have here. Jarvia said you were looking for trouble. Congratulations you’ve found--”

He was cut off by a knife that flew from Zevran’s hand to embed itself in his windpipe. “We have found it, yes. Honestly. You people are so predictable, it is almost sad.” 

Dwarves were resistant to magic, they were a hale and hearty folk, but Surana’s party matched them in number, outclassed them in scale and had a dog and a golem who were both more than happy to stomp and maul until Surana called them off. Stanton dropped the arm he was worrying when Surana made her way over, stepping over the bodies and trying to feel better about the fact that this was all becoming _familiar_. 

“D-d-d-don’t Kill me!” The dwarf with the half-gnawed arm kicked out and trying to scoot away from her and Surana approached. “What do they teach you on the surface? You fight like a sodding archdemon!” 

_Ironic, Really_. 

He looked around at the bodies of his fellows. “Sweet bloody Stone, look at them all!” 

Surana dropped down so she was kneeling at eye level with him, Stanton at her side, his face and neck coated with blood and his ears pressed flat to his skull. “Tell me where I can find Jarvia or you’ll join them.” 

“B-below the city. The base is below the city but, _but_ you can get there through the third house on this row. Put, put this token through the slot and it’ll open.” He never took his eyes off Stanton. “Will . . . will you let me go now?” 

Cooling green magic coated Surana’s hands and eased the bites on the dwarf’s arm. “Yes. And you won’t be at Jarvia’s when I get there. Will you?” 

“R-r-really?” 

“Really.” 

“You’re. . . you’re a good person.” He pulled his arm away as the skin knit together. “I . . . how do they say it? The ancestors have shown their favor. Bless you.” 

“I’m serious about not being at Jarvia’s.” Surana called after him as he bolted. “ _Dead_ serious.” 

Stanton licked the blood off her face and hands and rubbed his own face on the dirt to soothe some itch while she stood and turned her magic to attend to the injuries of her friends. Alistair had a few bruises and Sten, somewhat grudgingly, let her heal a gash in his side. 

“Third house on this row,” she repeated. “Should we wait for the others or--”

“We should go quickly and finish quickly. This part of town smells of refuse.” Sten said, his tone short. Stanton barked in agreement. Surana exhaled and nodded. 

* * *

The carta, Surana was discovering as she and her companions fought their way into the base, reminded her of spiders. Venomous, prone to popping out from shadows, terribly unpleasant and crawling around uncomfortable caverns. She had always hated spiders. Shale, they discovered, was largely invulnerable to run of the mill attacks with arrows or small knives, the sort of thing the carta favored. A strong blow from a hammer or a greatsword could chip it, however and so the strategy became: Alistair and Shale at point, Morrigan and Zevran targeting ranged and massive weapons, Neria healing with Stanton protecting her and Sten playing defense at the rear to avoid being surrounded. 

It worked surprisingly well. 

Jarvia was short, even for a dwarf. She was waiting when Shale broke down the door of a central room, holding a cruel looking longbow in her hands. Her hair was braided back to stay out of her eyes and her black brand was scarred, a woman who had fought for every scrap she’d ever received and had learned to love the struggled. She delivered and equally cruel and curved smile. “So. Bhelen finally realized that his throne isn’t worth anything if he can’t hold it and he _still_ didn’t send his own men. Well, you picked the wrong side, Stranger. See, it doesn’t matter who’s king, as long as there’s a queen.” 

“Remarkably cocky for a woman whose entire band of thugs is dead.” Morrigan observed. 

“Might it be that the Jarvia woman is too short to breathe the good air? Could be.” Shale echoed into the room. 

Surana chuckled despite herself. “Surrender and I’ll spare your life.” 

“Hardly convincing when your blades are covered in my men’s blood.” Jarvia nocked an arrow and pulled the bow string taught. “Kill them! But leave the pretty red-head alive. I have plans for her.” 

The arrow snapped free of Jarvia’s bow and lodged itself in Alistair’s shield. The fight was hard and fast. Carta members, even Jarvia herself darted in and out of stealth and half the room was trapped. Surana called on every trick she had and some she made up on the spot to mitigate damage, keeping close to Morrigan so neither of their backs were exposed while the other members of their party dealt with individual problems. She took a nasty slice to the arm and another to the side, retaliating with a blast of heat from her hand and a staff blow to the temple. 

Eventually, however, Jarvia was dead. Surana felt like she was going to collapse on the spot, losing blood through a half-dozen cuts and the rest of the party not much better off. She turned her attention first to Stanton, who was limping and closest, then to Morrigan and Sten and Zevran who was surprisingly fine. 

Then she turned to look for Alistair. 

He was lying, limp, on the floor near where a barrel had exploded. A strangled cry broke out of her mouth as she moved as fast as her injuries would let her to his side. He was breathing. It was faint but it was there. Breathing and not bleeding too badly. The carta thugs must have assumed they’d have a chance to deal with him after the others were dead, or they’d assumed he _was_ dead. 

“You...Morrigan, you and the others should go tell Bhelen it’s done. Take, have, Shale carry Jarvia’s corpse as proof.” Surana’s fingers struggled clumsily with the straps on Alistair’s armor. “I can fix this but I can’t move him right away.” 

She listened to his breathing, leaning close enough to feel it on her face while she wrestled his breast plate loose, trying not to jostle him too badly. 

“Is it bad?” Zevran asked, more curious, she figured, than truly concerned. She looked up at him and found that her assumption was discourteous. Shale and Morrigan were already starting down the tunnel with Jarvia’s head, just the head, she noticed numbly, but Zevran had, in fact, helped with the straps. 

“It’s internal,” Surana said weakly. “That’s never . . . never good but I . . . I can fix it.” She exhaled. “I can fix this. He’s not bleeding and he’s not badly bruised. It’s a burn, the shock knocked him unconscious but I can fix it.” She kissed Alistair’s face. “I can fix it.” 

“You are bleeding yourself, Neria. Rather badly.” 

“Not threateningly badly and if we have to carry someone I’m . . . I’m lighter?”

Zevran uncorked a potion. 

“I need my hands,” Surana said, smoothing her hands out over Alistair’s open gambison and over his burned red chest. Her fingers tingled and glowed, magic seeping through his skin to mend the damage the blast had done. 

Zevran moved behind her. “Tip your head back.” 

She obeyed and let him pour the potion down her throat, swallowing and then turning her attention back to Alistair’s strengthening heartbeat. 

“You truly trust me.” Zevran said quietly, tossing the glass bottle aside. “In earnest.” 

“Of course,” Surana plucked splinters of wood from Alistair’s skin. “We’re friends, Zevran.” She gave him a very small smile. “In earnest.” 

Alistair began to stir and Surana slumped with relief.

“I get the feeling I did really badly back there,” Alistair muttered as he came to sitting. 

Surana curled her fingers around his cheeks and shook her head, relieved tears touching the corners of her eyes. “You did fine,” she assured him. “You just got knocked down. You’re fine.” 

Alistair smiled and turned crimson when she darted in to press a very small kiss on his mouth. 

“Don’t do it again.”

“Yes, _dear_ ,” he teased. 

Zevran cackled and Surana turned in surprise when she heard and annoyed but mostly disinterested grunt behind her. 

Sten, arms crossed and expression sour, was watching them with the utmost disdain. Surana blushed. “I . . . Kadan I thought you . . .” 

“Someone had to stay in case there was an ambush. We linger too long. Let us return.” 

She nodded and stood, Offering Alistair a hand and realizing that she wasn’t _actually_ strong enough to lift him, but she could steady him while he put his armor back on. 

“I just hope Bhelen’s happy,” Surana leaned her head against Alistair’s chest. “I hate this place. I want to see the sun again.”


End file.
